


SUBJECT K-R3Y

by VeriLee



Series: Reylo Monster Week [2]
Category: Midnight Special (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A nod to the X-Files, Alien Rey, Alien/Human Relationships, Alien/Human smut but its so soft, Also a hint of reincarnated Kylo bc even my SeviRey needs to be Reylo, F/M, Human Paul Sevier, Reylo Monster Week, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 02:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeriLee/pseuds/VeriLee
Summary: The image Rey sends is softer this time. She and her partner facing each other, touching their foreheads together. Paul forces himself to focus on the other alien instead of Rey and gasps aloud.Your eyes.Paul's breathing is labored for an entirely different reason now. "What? How?"There is no death, only transformation.---In which Paul Sevier meets an extraterrestrial that he loved in another lifetime, another galaxy.





	SUBJECT K-R3Y

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of Human/Alien romance for Monster Week day 2: "It Came From Outer Space"
> 
> Unbetad - sorry for any mistakes!

  


The female extraterrestrial won't talk to anyone but Paul. 

Not that she truly _ talks _to him, so much as sends messages to his mind.

But a few months ago, he thought he was going to be fired, arrested, or perhaps even worse for his part aiding in the escape of subjects his government had been watching. 

Not subjects. People. And not watching. But hunting. 

So perhaps being shuttled to Virginia to work for an eccentric man and his long suffering partner in an oft-forgotten branch of the FBI isn't the worst. 

_ Prisoners? Like me?_

Paul looks up from the file he'd been perusing in surprise. He always forgets she can hear him, even when he doesn't speak. 

"Yes, I suppose so." Paul closes the folder and clasps his hands under his chin, watching the creature. Prisoner. Woman. She is far more interesting than the documents that detail her capture, the results of her tests and examinations. 

_ Why not free me too, then? You're not like my other captors._

She sends images then, of the officers roughly yanking and shoving her into a cage; Paul hears her high pitched wails, watches the gray haired man in a suit, taking a drag of his cigarette as he calmly observes.

Paul flushes, guilt for his association coloring his cheeks. "How am I so different?" he asks, his voice bitter. So he's gentle; he still does their bidding 

_ You ARE gentle. That matters to me. You call me by name._

Rey. It isn't quite her true name - when Paul asked, she sent him an image of bright light, her true name not quite translatable - and he asked if he could call her Rey. She had answered with a smile. 

She's told him this before, but today she says something new.

_ And you're mine._

Paul startles at the possessive current that laces Rey's thoughts, meets her unblinking gaze in surprise.

_ I suspected from the start, but it took awhile for me to know for sure._

"What does that mean?" he implores, leaning forward, confused and curious. 

Rey gets up from where she'd been reclining on her bed then - the cell they gave her might look like a cozy apartment if it weren't a prison - and crosses the small room to where Paul sits at the table. 

She perches on the edge of the table and smiles down at him. She's a confusing contradiction, but beautiful. Her body is humanoid, but long and lithe, nearly as tall as Paul, who clocks in a couple inches over six feet. And her face looks _ almost _ human, if it weren't for the fact that her hazel eyes were a little too large, too wide. But one can get lost in their depths. 

And her skin. Her skin is like gold, smooth and shimmery and dotted with freckles like diamonds. She reflects even the dim light in the little cell. Like her name. The brilliant rays that Paul's language can't quite pinpoint. 

It's a mockery to dress her in the mundane off-white scrubs that the scientists issued her. 

_ I've known you before, lost you before._

"I don't understand." Paul shakes his head as he gazes up at Rey's face. It's almost overwhelming, to be this close. 

_ There is no death, only transformation.  
_

"But that doesn't make se-"

Rey cuts him off then, placing a smooth hand to his cheek and Paul gasps at the onslaught of imagery that she floods his mind with. 

Images of Rey. Of another extraterrestrial, golden like her but even taller, broader. Kissing. Caressing. Copulating. Shimmering limbs entangled. 

Their naked bodies look a little different from humans, but the motions, the mechanics of their union is startlingly familiar. As are the tempo of gasps and moans they exchange. Paul cannot close his mind to the expression of rapture on Rey's face and shamefully, he feels his body react. More than that, he can _ feel _ her pleasure, and her partner's, as if he's experiencing the act, not spying on a memory he has no right to witness. 

He's breathing heavily when Rey withdraws her hand, lets the images fade away. He swallows thickly, knowing that although the table masks his erection from her, she can surely read his arousal in his mind. He is an open book for her, but graciously she doesn't tease him. 

"Why did you show me that?" he asks, his voice strangled. He wants to see it again, _ feel _ it again, and is disgusted with himself, for his guilt does nothing to stem his desire.

_ Don't be harsh on yourself. These memories belong to you as well as me. _

When Paul furrows his brow in confusion, Rey touches him again, gently tracing her fingertips over his cheek. 

_ Watch his eyes._

The image Rey sends is softer this time. She and her partner facing each other, touching their foreheads together. Paul forces himself to focus on the other alien instead of Rey and gasps aloud. 

_ Your eyes._

Paul's breathing is labored for an entirely different reason now. "What? How?"

_ There is no death, only transformation._

She repeats her proclamation from earlier. 

_ You were mine but I lost you years ago. I hoped but didn't expect to see you again.  
_

"Are you sure? What was my name?" But even as he asks, he believes her. He can't explain why but he does. 

The image she sends is expansive, endless like the sky, in motion like a gust of wind. "Caelum," Paul murmurs, the Latin word for sky flitting through his brain, and then, intuitively, "Kylo?"

_ Close enough. _ Rey smiles. _ But you're Paul now; I won't steal that from you._

She sends more images, but he recognizes these easily. Paul stepping in to stop the officers' rough handling of Rey, bringing her food, waiting, during every one of their sessions, for her to speak first, all laced with her appreciation for his kindness. 

_ You brought your compassion to this world, this life. _

She hasn't removed her hand from his skin this time, still doesn't. Instead she slides it along his skin until her long fingers meet his hair, tangles them into the dark locks. Paul can feel her wonder and joy at the sensation; he'd been as hairless as her in the memories she had shared. He lets out a stuttering moan as her smooth fingertips drag against his scalp. 

Leaning down, Rey presses her forehead to his and Paul can feel her passion, her _ love _, flowing through the touch. 

_ I waited so long for you. Finally, you came back for me._

Paul doesn't quite understand the depth of her longing, hasn't craved her for as long as she has dreamt of her lover. But her desire is contagious and flows through him at her every touch. 

Tentatively he tilts his head up, brings his face closer to hers though it almost makes his vision swim, he wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue and pleads with Rey with his eyes. 

_ Yes._

Paul brings a hand up to cup the back of Rey's head, her skin even softer than he imagined, like silk stretched over her skull, as his lips find hers. The spark as they finally kiss is like static electricity. He is gentle but she is hungry, meeting his cautious touch with fevered intensity, her long tongue teasing at his, her teeth biting at his lips as though she would devour him. 

He nearly whimpers when she climbs off the table and into his lap, long limbs straddling him, the thin cotton of her garments doing little to mask the heat emanating from her skin.

"Rey," he chokes out, a broken moan, when her lips leave his, begin to explore his skin: she nips at his ears, drags her tongue along his collar bone, swiftly opens his plaid button-down to suck a bruise into the flesh just over his heart.

_ You taste different here, in this body._

Paul groans at the image that accompanies the thought. In the memory, her golden lips are stretched around a member that looks distinctly different from his own, and she can hear her wondering if that will taste different, too. He doesn't know, but his own dick twitches eagerly at the prospect. 

His hands slide all over her skin, reveling in the smooth feel under his own touch. It's different from anyone he has ever caressed before, smooth like glass. He wonders how different this will be; he's desperate to please her, to worship her.

_ Don't worry. _She senses his nerves. 

She reaches between them to unfasten his slacks, slip her hand inside. His eyes roll back as her nimble fingers stroke him, grip him, sweep across his already leaking head. She's hardly touched him and he's already wrecked. 

_ I want to see it. You, all of you._

Rey climbs off his lap and watches expectantly as she sends the message. Paul is frozen for a moment, but for the rise and fall of his chest. But he recovers and hastily works to comply with her request, shucking off his already dishevled clothing. He stands under her intent gaze, can feel the weight of her stare as she explores her body with his eyes, preens as she licks her lips lustfully. 

_ We seem to be compatible._

The words might seem clinical but the emotion they are threaded with is anything but; she is relieved and eager as she peels off her own simple clothing and nudges Paul back into the chair. 

He can't take his eyes off of Rey, curiously drinking in her own naked form, so much more bold and tangible than in the hazy memories she'd shared before. She's smooth everywhere, like clear and unbroken water. Except at the apex of her thighs, where the golden hue of her skin is a darker, deeper amber and soft folds, not so unlike a human's, beckon to him. 

Rey sends more images as she kneels in front of the chair, settling herself between Paul's thighs and taking his aching dick in her mouth. It's almost too much, the sensation of her mouth on him, that startlingly long and nimble tongue caressing his shaft, along with the fevered images filling his brain, memories of orgasms that were never his coursing through his veins. 

He can only pant and grunt, call out "Rey" on a broken groan and wish he had the words to chant her true name. He's so close, _ so close._

Then at once, the warmth is gone and he's gasping at the loss until Rey climbs back onto his lap, perched on his thighs. 

_ Shh. _ She kisses him languidly as she sends him comforting thoughts. _ Soon._

Then she takes Paul's hand in her own, she guides it, presses it against her chest, her heart. _ Don't you want to touch me too?_

"God, yes," Paul breathes out on a sigh. He lets his fingers trail lightly across her skin, down, down, down, sighing when he reaches her damp and heated flesh. He delights in the tremors he can feel under his touch, in the thoughts she projects towards him. He puts his other hand on her hip, whether to steady her or himself he isn't sure. 

It takes only a moment to find his way though - she really isn't all that different, here at least - and practiced fingers stroke at her, plunge into her core and draw forth audible whimpers and keens from her, even if she still doesn't speak actual words aloud. 

Her thoughts are a jumble of Paul's name and the image she sent of her alien lover's name as she clutches Paul's hair and rides his hand. He wonders if he might taste her, as she had tasted him but she shakes her head. 

_ Later. Inside. Now._

Her words are stilted, desperate. Rey is keyed up, nearly at the edge; Paul doesn't need her telepathic insight to know that. No sooner does he pull his hand away than Rey shifts in his lap, impales herself on him, frantically and she rides him with abandon. Through the emotion, the thoughts that she sends, he can feel the tension building in core, coursing outward through her limbs until suddenly her orgasm overtakes her. The overwhelming sensation of experiencing her pleasure triggers his own release and Paul groans loudly as he spills within her. 

It's only after he's recovered, his breath returning to normal as Rey slumps in his lap, happy and spent as she toys with his hair, that he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, the red light flashing mockingly. 

With a sigh, Paul wonders if he'll be able to destroy the footage before he flees with her. But incriminating video or not, he knows he's going on the run again.

His compassion that she professed to admire had lead him to cross paths with Rey; who would he be if he let them keep her prisoner here?

The difference this time is that they'll keep running, together.

  



End file.
